Wil Jade

By Philip Alyster LaGree

THE STORY

1940 SAN FRANCISCO

THE 1939 Chevrolet with lights out raced along Market Street in the shadows. The victim was dead the instant he stepped from the curb! The car and driver disappeared into the night. The hit had been arranged in Sacramento. It covered the tracks of three politicians who had arranged the triple murders. Now, in Washington, D.C. Senator Ralph Claiborne, partner Ed Cramer in the House of Representatives and partner Harold Rileigh, Speaker of the State Assembly in Sacramento were safely hidden!

Philip Jade, Political Reporter for the “CALL” newspaper who had uncovered the evidence was dead, and what he had died with him-OR HAD IT?

Wil Jade, Philip’s son lived with the nightmares of the murders he couldn’t prove. Then one morning at Wil’s office a large envelope arrives. In it, photos of a hoodlum gunned down in an office. Scribbled across the top; YOUR FATHER’s KILLER! Then the phone call, the voice of a man clinging to life on an oxygen tank leads Wil Jade on a pathway to discovery!

A sailing ship unarmed in a sea of enemy submarines, a voyage that leads from San Francisco, to Panama, to Africa and Australia. A return that leads to the White House!

Set against a backdrop of war that looms on the horizon, events that keep the reader turning the page unfold in an array of intrigue, romance, adventure and mystery and drive the action to the final page!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483518060

Book preview

EVENT"

ONE.

SAN FRANCISCO, FALL 1940

The cause was blunt force trauma, Mr. Jade, death was instant. The attendant’s face reflected nothing. After so many times of saying sorry for your loss or, please accept our sincere… Nighttime, daytime, it didn’t matter how the dead got here. The white antiseptic room housed within this gray stone structure was where life crossed over to that undiscovered borne from whose country no traveler returns.

The words struck like a lightning bolt charging through every pour, Mr. Jade, would you step this way please? Out of nowhere, the clanging began, breaking the chaos of the words and the grief of the moment…

Wil Jade pitched forward in his bed covered in perspiration. The sheets beneath him carried the wet imprint of his body. The fleeting terror of that moment, rushing away, to restore its energy, for another night’s assault.

It had been almost one year since he was led down the hallway from the white room to the bleak area were the dead were temporarily stored. The life, energy and brilliance that had filled his father’s body only hours before were gone, his eyes closed to the world he knew, leaving behind only the heartbreak.

It wasn’t hit-and-run! The story Philip Jade had hidden, even from his son, Wil, was clearly behind the murder that had taken his life. Proving it was another story.

Philip Jade’s analysis and insights had gained him a wide following and a large audience of readers for the Call newspaper, as well as offers up and down the coast and as far east as Chicago. He was at the least, a brilliant journalist. His love for Wil occupied a major spot in his life, but as close as they were, Philip’s silence remained absolute. What Wil had gathered on his own was that some major political players in Sacramento were implicated.

Less than one week later, Philip Jade was dead and what he had died with him, or, had it? In Philip Jade’s last contact with Wil, his only comment was, I’ve protected what I have, Wil. With whom? When? Where? These same nagging questions confronted Wil daily and had since his father’s tragic death.

The night Wil had to identify Philip Jade’s remains; the stresses were coming from so many directions he didn’t think about picking up his father’s personal effects until the following day. His dad’s wristwatch, a handkerchief, his briefcase, which contained only a yellow lined tablet, a pencil, a toothbrush and a razor.

Why was Philip Jade’s briefcase empty? He certainly wouldn’t have stored anything in the home he loosely shared with Virginia Jade, Wil’s mother. Was there an outside third party? Someone that Wil’s father had kept from him?

If that was the case, nothing and certainly no one had surfaced despite the fact that Wil had feelings at the time that there might be a woman in his father’s life.

Virginia Jade’s religious fanaticism had driven Philip Jade from her life, and destroyed her relationship with Wil. Even with that, the night of Philip Jade’s death, she had run through every room in the house screaming his name. In time, the incident forced Virginia deeper into the abyss she had created and in time Philip Jade’s passing faded.

Wil reached into the dresser drawer, picked a pair of shorts, undershirt and socks and walked down the hall to the shower.

Wil lived near the top of Nob Hill in a three-story apartment. There were only four apartments on the top floor and his was one of them. Three large pane windows afforded a view all the way down California Street to the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. It was an older building that had been remodeled with its own elevator. The rooms were spacious. Wil had converted his second bedroom into an office with a desk, typewriter and filing cabinet.

He closed the door of the building just as sound of the cable car became audible. The car crossed the top of the hill and came clanging down California Street. Wil would ride it as far as Kearney Street, get off and walk the short block, stopping at the café a few doors from his office.

After an order of toast and coffee, he walked the few steps to the offices of Jade and Bailey, opened the door and climbed the flight of stairs to the office. Mandy Keller, the secretary, looked up from her desk.

Hi, Wil! Morning, Mandy! Anything in? Clair has a large envelope for you. It came in a few minutes ago. Wil gave Mandy a wink and moved on through the door to where Clair Bailey sat in her office, working on some copy. Clair looked up, smiled, and held up the large envelope.

Looks like someone, was in a hurry to get this here. Wil took the envelope turned it over and stared at it. Three rows of stamps marched across the front. In the upper left hand corner, in a very shaky hand, the name, Ernest Carroll, General Hospital, San Francisco. The Jade and Bailey address, in the same hand albeit, slightly more legible, appeared below, in the center.

Looks, urgent! With that; Wil opened the door to his office, took off his coat and hat, and laid the envelope down on his desk. He sat down, took a penknife and slit the envelope across the top.

The sudden shock of seeing the contents was almost overwhelming. Clair! When Clair came though the half opened door, it looked as though the blood had drained from Wil’s face. He held up the envelope contents. Look at this!

Clair winced when she looked down at the photos of a man whose chest and stomach had exploded from the hail of bullets that had ended his life in a run-down office. Scribbled across the top, of one of the eight by ten photos, your father’s killer!

The newspaper clipping by-line read, End of a small-time hoodlum. Below, the copy read, Morg Hensil died in the same style as his victims. While Clair and Wil looked at each other in shock, the sudden ring of the telephone sent another shock through both of them…

Where’s Mandy? In, the bathroom, probably. Wil picked up on the second ring. Jade There was a long intake of breath, then, General Hospital, room 321, 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. Then, silence.

Wil held the phone in his hand and just looked at it, and then he slowly returned it to its cradle. Who was that? I think it was Carroll, the guy who sent these pictures, and he sounds terminal. Are you going to say anything to George Rydell?

Too early, George and I are having lunch today. I’m sure the subject today will be the Argos. George is in trouble, I don’t like his partners and I’ve never trusted them. Let’s see what Carroll has to say tomorrow and what he knows.

Clair looked at Wil, nodded in agreement and returned to her office. She already had a very deep sense of what he was going through.

Wil placed the large envelope on the right side of his desk, shoved a piece of paper into the typewriter and began the notes for the meeting he would need later in the afternoon in the Mayor’s office.

George Rydell was Vice President of H&C Sugar and an important client for Jade and Bailey Public Relations. In addition, George was someone special to Wil. He was Philip Jade’s closest friend.

Rydell and two business partners had purchased the metal-hulled three-mast bark out of Oakland Estuary where it sat, rusting away with others of its kind that had outlived their usefulness in the seagoing commercial world.

The Argos had been ferried up to the shipyards in Port Aberdeen Washington, where it was now undergoing a complete overhaul and refitting. The idea was to return it to its original shape when it was launched in 1898 in Bath, Maine.

One thing Rydell and his partners hadn’t figured into the equation was the course of history. Europe was in chaos as Hitler’s armies marched forward crushing everything in their path. America was one step away from being involved in that war, like it or not.

Japanese/American relations had hit an all-time low. There were rumblings that Japan would side with Germany and Italy plunging the world into an all-out war!

Wil would be very much involved in the events surrounding the Argos. Rydell had asked him to act as trouble-shooter on the proposed voyage of the Argos to Durban, South Africa, to deliver a load of Canadian spruce and maple to a waiting client.

Wil weighed the judgment call he had made about his commitment to Rydell. There was, after all, the business that H&C had pushed toward Jade and Bailey. There was also the fact that Rydell had gotten himself in over his head in the financing of the sailing ship.

Wil looked down at his watch. Suddenly it was 11:45. He picked up his hat and coat, and passed Clair’s desk on the way out. I’ll be back around 2:00. Clair looked at the pile of work sitting on her desk. She grinned, I think I’ll be here.

Clair Bailey was born in the small coastal city of Pacific Grove, near Monterey. The daughter of a civil engineer and a music teacher, the focus on education in the home started early. Both parents were involved and the joy of learning came easily.

Clair entered Berkeley in journalism on a scholarship and stayed at or near the top of her class, all the way through. It was also where she met the man in her life that was still in her life mentally.

The rude awakening came for Clair upon graduation. The limited job market had very little to do with talent and more to do with contacts. Finally an opening came in a corporate situation that after a couple of years turned into a blind alley.

That was when one night a few years earlier, she and Wil Jade met for a drink at the Press Club. Wil had just hung out his shingle and invited her to partner with him to handle some accounts he had developed. They agreed, and the fire that lit both their drives was ignited, and Jade and Bailey was born.

In three short years by relentless hit-the-street effort during the post-depression era, they had developed a number of high profile political accounts in Sacramento, including the Governor’s office, the Mayor’s office in San Francisco and several top business accounts in Los Angeles.

TWO.

Wil finished at the Mayor’s office just after four. It was a few minutes before five when he opened the door to him and Clair’s office. She smiled, then, Wil, we need to talk.

A, problem? Clair straightened herself and looked at Wil directly. I‘ve tried to separate myself from this and think it wasn’t my concern, but it is. I think you need to talk to the police. The pictures, and the clippings about Hensil from the Chicago paper. This man Carroll, I don’t like it!

I don’t intend to talk to the police for some time if at all, Clair. There were things missing from my father’s personal effects, and the police, I had contact with at the time seemed more anxious to bury whatever there was than to talk about it.

Clair looked at the floor, then back at Wil. You’re right, of course, if there’s anything I can do. I’ll know more after I see Carroll tomorrow. We’ve got Jade and Bailey to think about and I want you to understand I’m just gathering facts from Carroll if he has any. I suggest we both sleep on it. We’ll talk tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to assess what we’re dealing with. Wil smiled and closed the door to his office behind him; then Clair heard the thumping of his typewriter keys…

At 9:45 the following morning, Wil parked a half block away from the General Hospital. As he walked the remaining distance to the hospital entrance he mentally prepared himself for what he might see. At the same time beneath that feeling the controlled excitement that Carroll might have information that would lead him one step further.

The smell of bandages and alcohol filled the lobby. Three nurses at their stations looked Wil over as he made his way toward the small bank of elevators. He reasoned it had probably been a while since they had seen anyone walk through the entrance that looked healthy.

The dial above the elevator door signaled that the elevator had made the trip safely down without plunging. As the metal door slowly opened those inside looked happy to be getting out. The elevator operator, a man who looked to be in early sixties, with what was left of patches of gray hair, brown encrusted teeth, dressed in a plaid shirt dark pants and a black sweater put his hand over his mouth, smiled slightly, and asked Wil his floor.

The elevator started with clunk! The operator looked over at Wil. Damn thing, always does this when you start up. That was the only conversation that passed between the two as the elevator crept toward the third floor.

The operator pulled the metal door back; Wil stepped out into the hallway and was greeted by the smell of death and dying. Up the hall a nurse sat alone behind a desk looking over some papers, Wil approached. Room 321! The woman didn’t look up. The first hallway to your right, second door.

Ernest Carroll was a pathetic looking figure draped in the thin blanket and white sheet that half-covered his body. His life support in the oxygen tank and mask attached to the head of his bed. He was the only patient in this room.

The room itself was depressing. Plaster was falling from the lime green walls and parts of it hanging down. The only window in the wall was near the top of the room. Carroll opened his eyes as Wil moved closer to the foot of the bed.

Mr. Jade? Wil nodded. You look like your father. There was a short breath, a round of coughing and Carroll’s thin arm reached out, took the oxygen mask, did a couple of long pulls and laid his head back on the pillow that supported him.

Under half closed eyes he looked up at Wil, as his frail arm again reached out from under the sheet and his fingers found the bag by the side of his bed. Out of the bag, he produced a large file folder then looked back at Wil as he handed him the folder.

It’s here. It was Claiborne, Cramer and Rileigh. Too much money involved. I’ve put a note inside for you. Carroll nodded again. There’s more, a lot more! The coughing began again. Wil waited for it to subside.

Are you telling me U.S. Senator Ralph Claiborne, Congressman Ed Cramer, and Harold Rileigh, the current Speaker of the Assembly in Sacramento? It’s in the folder, see for yourself. Wil was somewhere between anger and the reality when the truth sets in. He looked squarely at Carroll. Why did you wait until now? Carroll looked up sadly. Thought, I could do it myself. Too late, for me now. I knew your father, I know what they did. Three more wheezing coughs and again, Carroll reached for the oxygen mask.

The duty nurse entered the room and looked across at Wil. I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Carroll needs to rest. Wil nodded. A faint smile broke across Carroll’s face. He whispered. There’s more. Wil returned his smile. I’ll be back.

Clair had just gotten off the phone with a client on a job needed for the following day. She had started to finish the job in front of her when the desk phone rang.

Yes, Mandy. There’s a man on the phone that wants to talk to you. He won’t give me a name."

Clair was in no mood for this call. Her manner was short and dry. Clair Bailey, may I help you? Only if you can have lunch with me tomorrow, and no isn’t an answer!

Clair dropped her pencil and sat back, a broad smile crossed her face. Ray! My God! How are you? Where are you? At the St., Francis. So, lunch tomorrow? Clair could hardly get the words out. Where and when? You know the restaurant in the basement of City of Paris. Yes!

Tomorrow at 1:00, and be prepared to spend the rest of your life, or at least two hours. Count on it. See you then.

There was a different feeling inside when Clair dug back into her work. She and Ray Harris had been stars at Berkeley. She in Journalism; Ray in Political Science. Ray left for Washington D.C. to seek his political fortune after college where he and Clair had been a twosome. Letters attempting to bring Clair back to Washington had ended with phone calls, then post cards, then nothing.

There had never been a place in Clair’s heart for anyone else, but she decided to seek her fortune closer to home. Time had passed and suddenly there was Jade and Bailey and the survival of a business.

When Wil left the hospital, his anxiety pushed him to drive down to the wharf and find a place to park. He opened the folder given him by Ernest Carroll. The pages were neatly arranged and the note on top, explanatory.

Dear Wil Jade:

You have seen the pictures and picked up this folder that contains the opening information that will lead you further into the incidents of one of the worst land thefts in California or political history!

You will see in time to come how the events brought about your father’s homicide. I have deliberately provided you with clues, so that in the event I live or die in the process of your discovery, your own work will validate the truth of my statements. It is the only way for you to grasp the very gravity of the criminal acts of Claiborne, Cramer and Rileigh and those associated with them.

As your search begins, there are three offices of State Government in Sacramento that will help you, in your work. The Bureau of Land Management, The State Office of Mineral Resources, and the office of The Secretary of State!

Next, you will check on any meetings attended by Claiborne, Cramer and Rileigh when they were all on State level between 1937 and 1939.

Especially important to you will be a history of California Spanish Land Grants. You will also want to check the holdings of Triangle Development in Bakersfield, California and the Malibu Holding Company in Malibu.

The information is public record and available through the office of Secretary of State. This is enough for the moment. I will help you when and where I can, but, be advised my time may be short-lived.

Good Luck, Ernest Carroll.

As soon as Wil got back to the office, he showed Clair the letter.

Good God! Do you realize the position this puts you in? Yes, Clair, I do. So far, I haven’t attracted any undue attention in Sacramento because I come and go from the Governor’s office and our other clients there, it should afford me some cover, even with Rileigh there.

Wil stopped and took Clair in his arms. My only trepidation is, knowing the danger this puts you in. Clair looked at him. I’m your partner, Wil. Wil stepped back. It’s evident now my father was murdered. Clair looked up. Have you thought about you next move?"

The only way to know is go to Sacramento. I’ll do that tomorrow. It will give me an opportunity to go over the copy on the upcoming campaign issues and do some quiet snooping.

Just after one, the following day, Clair entered the City of Paris department store through the Stockton Street entrance adjacent to Union Square. She walked over to the stairs leading down to the basement area and through the lovely grape arbor entrance and spotted Ray sitting on one side.

As Ray stood up to his six-foot height, there wasn’t a woman seated who didn’t take notice. Ray was wearing a dark blue suit with a pin striped shirt and burgundy tie. His blue eyes stood out of a handsome face. Here and there flecks of gray in his black hair.

Clair approached the table and they embraced. When she pulled back, Ray smiled. Lovely as ever. Look at you, you must be what? Twenty- seven? She smiled, Right, and your Secretary of State.

I see you haven’t lost your edge, Miss Bailey, or is it Mrs. Whatever? No, it’s Miss whatever, and I’m surprised there isn’t a damsel attached to your arm, what with all the ladies back there on the Washington cocktail circuit.

Ray grinned. No, its focus on your work, or drop by the wayside. Besides, all you get from the cocktail circuit is booze fat, and I always drink alone in my closet! When Clair laughed, Ray was reminded of what he’d missed so much about her.

Large blue-gray eyes set in a lovely and intelligent face, a five foot seven frame and auburn hair that danced with highlights. They both sensed in that moment that nothing had changed.

And so, Mr. Harris, what have you been doing back there with all the big wheels? Well, three days a week I shuffle paper, the other two days is mostly hiding.

Clair brought her laughter under control as the waitress approached the table. Hi folks, have you decided? Clair looked up. I’ll have the Crab Louie and glass of Chablis. The waitress looked over at Ray. Make it two! As the waitress departed, Ray turned to Clair. So; how about you miss Bailey? "Well; after college, odd jobs here and there, some magazine assignments in a very tight market.

I answered an ad for a corporate writing position that turned out to be a dead-ender. After two years on the third rung of a never-ending ladder, I said adios. Ray reached across the table and took her hand. Then, what."

Well, at the end of the corporate thing, I ran into Wil Jade whom I’d known from the press Club. He asked what I was doing and I told him I was at loose ends and searching.

Wil had recently opened a shop and asked if I wanted to hang my shingle out with his, I said yes and Jade and Bailey was born. We’re a PR firm with some political, company and corporate clients and we’ve expanded into the Los Angeles market and the growth continues.

Ray looked into her eyes. Are you and he? Nothing like that, but we’re close friends. I hope you’ll be in town a few days. Ray. I want you to meet him. There’s a reason why.

Ray smiled. I’m going to be here through Sunday and I plan to take you to dinner every night until then. I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t said that, but tonight is out. A load of work is in from L.A. and Wil should be back from Sacramento tonight.

The waitress stepped up and set their orders on the table. Enjoy your lunch folks. The waitress departed and Clair looked over at Ray.

Now, Mr. Harris, what are you really doing? Ray reached into his card case and extracted a card.

Raymond Harris

Public Information Officer

UNITED STATES SENATE

Clair looked at the card. Well, Mr. Harris, I’m impressed. Well you should be Miss Bailey; after all, I’m a terrific guy. Clair grinned. So where does it go from here, Mr. Terrific Guy?

In Washington, everything’s a guess. I was told a few years ago when I took the job, it could be a springboard to other possibilities. We’ll see.

Clair was trying to figure out how to approch her next question. She had to be careful not to get ahead of the problem, she and Wil shared. She took Ray’s hand.

So, how’s our illustrious Senator doing in Washington? Ray withdrew his hand from hers and the smile disappeared from his face. You’re not involved doing any work for him, are you? No; why? Make sure it stays that way.

Anything you’d care to talk about? Ray’s look was direct. Not at the moment. Ralph Claiborne is the reason I want you to meet my partner, Wil. It’s serious, Ray."

When. Here’s my card. The day after tomorrow! I’ll let you know the time. Ray smiled again. Great, now can we talk about us?

Clair took Ray’s hand and two hours passed like a moment. Ray walked with Clair to the street entrance where they said goodbye, each with a feeling of excitement.

THREE

In Sacramento, after a meeting at the Governor’s office and reviewing the material he and Clair would rewrite for current press release, Wil left the office at 11:15. When he entered the Secretary of State’s office there was only one file clerk on duty and two people doing record search.

It took only a few short moments working undisturbed for Wil to check the files. The registration of Triangle Development and Malibu holding had been completed within one month of each other. The signer’s name as Secretary on both companies was Ernest Carroll. The next stop would be the Bureau of Land Management.

Luckily it was just past 12:30 when Wil entered the office and it was vacant except for one file clerk on duty. The clerk looked over from what he was doing. May I help you? Wil smiled. Yes, you really could. I’m working on an early California historical research project. Is there an information section on old Spanish land grants? The clerk gave an all-knowing look.

Oh yes, that’s an easy one. There are a number of those old grants still in force. The current grant holders in each case have to refile every so many years; otherwise, the grant deed properties can be taken over by the State and sold to the public on the open market.

Would that mean if a grant property actually became available it could go to the first bidder to file with the State? Possibly, but I’m sure there are legal questions. Wil didn’t inject anything else into the conversation. The clerk led the way to the grant section.

Do you have any particular areas in mind? Yes I did, I don’t know if you can help me narrow them down? I’m interested in the area around Kern County and the development of the city of Bakersfield. The other area is along the southern California coast known as Malibu.

The clerk stopped at a special part of the grant section. Here you are. The current information will tell you how long the grants have been in force and their current status of ownership.

Wil looked at the clerk. Your knowledge is amazing The clerk smiled. If you need any other help, just let me know.

Wil found both grants listed under two different titles. The grant covering the Kern County area was part of grant tied to an extensive area of land outside Santa Barbara.

A strip of white paper was set diagonally across the grant that read, IN REVIEW. Wil knew inside, he had found the answer but he needed conformation. He caught the clerk’s attention, raised his hand and smiled.

I’m sorry to bother you, but, could you tell me what this means? No bother at all, that’s why In Review means that this grant can be taken over by the State any time and sold. Either the grant holder didn’t file on time, or there were some other problems.

Wil looked at the clerk strangely. You know, you would think that someone who had this kind of property would take care of filing on time. It looks to be a pretty large piece of land.

The clerk lifted the file out and began to look through its pages. Then, half stunned, he turned to Wil. This is hard to believe. This grant has been under the same family for five generations.

The clerk flipped one more page and there it was. The old grant title was purchased from the state under the name of Triangle Development Company in Bakersfield, California.

Wil managed to contain his excitement as he thanked the clerk, and asked if he could make copies, then left the building and headed for his car. If he was lucky, Clair might still be at the office.

At the office, Clair looked at the pile of work still on her desk and knew it would be at least 7:00 before she could close the door for the day. Wil might have found something out in Sacramento, and now, she was as anxious as he was.

At 6:30 Wil opened the office door. The affects of being on the road since 5:00 a.m. were written on his face. Clair looked up. You need to go straight home and fall into bed.

He looked down at her. "How close are you to being